


Black Velvet

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10076237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prompto's a mess who needs something stable in his life. Ignis just thinks he needs discipline.Set in a kind of everythings-ok-let's-not-go-fight-lets-cuddle AU.





	1. Chapter 1

Saturday dawned cheerful and bright, and Ignis woke in a good mood. He had no duties to fulfil today, and could spend the day running errands for his own pleasure. This was unusual; he usually picked up the dregs of work left over from Friday, when it was suddenly realised that a report was late or a tally required counting up. It was with a pang of guilt that he realised he wouldn’t be scurrying after the Prince either; he’d left the apartment spotless last night, and Noctis had been deposited with his father for the weekend.

Still, he shouldn’t be wasting time. Lacing up his neat boots, Ignis rolled through one of the many lists he kept in his mind, frequently revised and updated.  _ Butternut squash, coconut milk, lemongrass, car wax, library books… _ He checked the small stack of novels on the hallway table; Gladio had earnestly recommended at least half. Ignis’ face had remained stony when the librarian had stamped each one, her pretty face flushing over one particularly lurid volume.  _ But of course, _ Ignis had thought, _ he’s recommended the kind of seedy filth usually confined to the Internet. I should have known. _ Still, he hadn’t put the book down till four in the morning.

The heat should have been oppressive, but the breeze that tickled his neck carried along a pleasant fragrance. Salt, grass, machinery. He bought an Ebony from a vending machine and decided to walk.

He was in the market choosing between two different strings of chillies when some absolute bastard bumped into him. The bag hooked over his left arm jerked violently and its content spewed out. A squash rolled away from him, bouncing over the kerb and into the gutter, whilst a bouquet of coriander flew into the middle of the pavement, to be crushed underfoot and lost.

“Hey, sorry man, you alright?” asked a familiar voice from somewhere around Ignis’ bicep. He spun on his heel, repressing the twitch at the corner of his mouth as he recognised the young man who’d slammed into him. Noctis always said that Prompto had hair like a chocobo’s butt, but Ignis thought it looked more like a Chickatrice’s. He was nearly as destructive, too.  “Ah, shi…ugar, hi Ignis! Thank goodness it’s just you. Could have really got myself into trouble there.”

“Prompto. _Just me_ , hmm? Good to know you hold me in such high esteem.”  Ignis stepped away to pick up the squash, which thanks to its tough skin remained unbruised. The herbs were in a sorrier state, and Ignis resigned them to a food waste bin.

“Still, it’s good to see you about, and not glued to some inane game on your pho...oh. Never mind.”  He stopped abruptly when he realised why Prompto had knocked into him. Prompto looked up to him sheepishly, his thumbs still rolling across the screen of his phone.

“You don’t understand, there’s this new game out where you can raise your own chocobo stable, but get this,  _ it makes you go outside _ . I saw there was an Excellent Chocobo nearby and I, uh, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

Ignis had, of course, heard of the game. He’d never admit it, but he’d been playing ChocoGo for a week already. He smothered another lip twitch again and readjusted his shopping bag on his arm. “No, it seems like you weren’t. No matter. Since you’re here, I may as well badger you into helping me. After all, you’ve already caused me some hindrance.” He didn’t expect to see the hurt that welled up in Prompto’s eyes, and added hastily, “and I would really love your company. Come.”

“Ah, you mean it?” Immediately Prompto’s face flooded with delight. “Let me take your shopping, c’mon, it’ll help you. You can look at all this stuff easier, right?” He yanked the bag from Ignis’ arm, and they heard the bottle of coconut milk shift against the books with a muffled  _ clunk. _  “Uh, I’m sure it’s fine.”

They set off through the market, Ignis finally selecting a bundle of deep red dried chillies and a replacement bunch of lively coriander. It didn’t get truly busy until later, so they were able to have their choice of each. Prompto rarely shopped, and when he did he arrived so late he had to pick through the sad and rejected remnants of the day. Rarely did he get to see fresh turmeric root, or poussin strung up and waiting for sale, and so they stopped and started on their way as Ignis would name the sights that Prompto found so enthralling.

“What’s that, Iggy?”

“Horseradish.”

“That’s a stupid name. It doesn’t look like either of those things. What’s that?”

“That’s lemongrass, and thank you for reminding me, I needed some.”

As Ignis turned to conduct his business, Prompto peered through the holes of the roomy net shopping bag to look at the books. Some of titles he could barely pronounce, one he was  _ pretty certain  _ was soon to be a major motion picture, and at the bottom, spine well-cracked and—

Prompto gasped. This was  _ the _ book that was being gossiped about. People were reading it with brown paper covers over them, or stuffed into more studious-looking volumes. The book that was so filthy that you needed ID to buy it. And you  _ know _ that they hate putting age restrictions on books.

Ignis was reading lewds.

“What are you so interested in, Prompto?” Ignis had deposited the lemongrass on top of the coriander, the bag now dangling dangerously above Prompto’s face as he tried to read the blurb.

“Ignis, do you know that you’ve got…”

“Oh, that? It’s the latest by Chuck Tingle, I believe. Very popular.” Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose, his face impassive. “Gladio recommended I read it. It was interesting.”

“Interesting?” Prompto shook the bag in Ignis’ face. “I wouldn’t call a book where a dude gets pounded in the butt by—“

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Ignis, pushing netting away from his glasses, “we all know what happens next. Or at least, you seem to know. I’ve actually got to get to the library to return these. Would you care to accompany me further, or have I sufficiently bored you?”

“Yes! I mean, no, you’ve not bored me. I’m into it.” Prompto gently curled his hand around Ignis’ upper tricep and leaned in close, pulling him out of the market proper. “Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

The library was cool, dark, and soothing to Ignis. He didn’t mind the warmth on his skin, and he enjoyed the way the city looked in the sun; tawny, dusty with light. It was the swathes of people who made him uncomfortable. People pushed and pulled from all sides, and shouted, and belched, and sneezed. It was all so unnecessary, so base. In comparison, the vast library was a sanctuary.

Depositing his books on the scarred mahogany counter, Ignis waited patiently as the librarian checked them and stamped them back in. The woman behind the desk was ancient now, and moved slower than time. She’d worked there for decades, and wasn’t about to stop now.  Besides him, Prompto was bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet.  “Iiiiigniiiiis,” he whined, “I want to look at the booooks.”

“If I were sat down, I’d fall off my chair, Prompto. I never thought I’d hear you crying for reading material. Go on then, what’s stopping you?”

Prompto adjusted one glove awkwardly, his right arm crossing over to guard his torso. “I wanna look at the books with yoooou.”

Ignis exhaled through his nose. “Well then, you’ll just have to wait,” he hissed, stooping down to be level with Prompto’s face. “Are you even going to get any books out? I almost guarantee we won’t be checking out anything from even the same department.” Again, he regretted his choice of words almost immediately. Prompto’s head drooped like a snowdrop, and he seemed to shrink into himself. “I’m just a… a bit scared, that’s all.”

And then Ignis straightened up, and he saw what Prompto saw. The library was mazelike, with narrow passes and a labyrinthine path to find through the stacks. Ladders of vertigo-inducing height were propped against some of the tallest bookshelves and shuddered whenever someone squeezed beneath them. A great stuffed hornet posed, hovering, inside a glass case at the end of the counter, and he’d never realised how imposing it all seemed.

He bent down again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding his hand out to shake as an apology.

“S’okay,” sniffed Prompto, as he took it and didn’t let go.

He was surprised, but not alarmed, and gave Prompto’s hand a comforting squeeze. “It seems as though we’re almost done here. Did you want to look anywhere in particular?”

Prompto smiled, a shy grin that reached up to his eyes. “I’ll go wherever you go, Ignis.” He squeezed back.

A funny jolt hit Ignis in the stomach, and his breath hitched in his throat. He choked, coughed once, and tried to frame it like he was clearing his throat. “Hm, yes, well, let’s see if we can’t both find something we’ll enjoy reading.”

Ignis led Prompto through the passageway to the stacks. The shelves made way for friendlier areas here and there, and as much as possible he tried to remain in these areas. Here or there, however, he had to venture into a confined set of shelves, and he noticed whenever they did Prompto would squeeze tight his eyes and huddle closer.

Ignis did not mind.

Soon they had a stack of five books, which Prompto again offered to help carry – which was useful, as Ignis was finding it more difficult to hold both books and Prompto’s hand. The blond had, to his surprise, picked out a novel for himself. Ignis peered down at the cover to realise it was another Tingler.

“What?” Prompto yelped, glaring up at Ignis. “I’ve not read this one yet!”

“Ah, so you admit that you’re a fan?”

“I wouldn’t say that. More like I’m obsessed.” Prompto blushed and looked away, and Ignis realised with a strange feeling that his friend sometimes had the sweetest, shyest smile.  As Ignis was about to probe further, Prompto cracked his smile wider and looked back up, blue eyes bright despite the gloom. “Hey, if you’re all done, can we go eat? I’m  _ starving. _ ”

 

* * *

 

It was decided that, since Ignis didn’t have to run around after anybody today, they would return to his apartment and he would make lunch for them both. After straightening the books that Prompto hastily dumped on the hallway table (having declared himself “bushed” and virtually flopping into the apartment), Ignis set to wiping down the kitchen counters. As he filled the sink with hot water, he glanced over to the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows, in front of which Prompto was sitting, cross-legged.

“Tea?”

“Huh?”

Ignis held up a cup. “Tea? Coffee? I’m being polite.”

“Oh, uh… water, thanks.”

He approached with a glass of water, condensation beading on the sides, and handed it to Prompto. “What are you looking at?” he asked, the blond’s rapt attention piquing his curiosity.

“Oh, just the city. You can see so much up here. So many people. It’s so…”

“Lonely.”

“I’d say it was comforting.” Prompto drew his knees up and rested his chin on his arms. “You can’t be alone when you’re so surrounded by life.”

Ignis said nothing as he admired the view, but he felt the urge to demonstrate his new found understanding. Cautiously, but not unwaveringly, he ran his fingers through Prompto’s hair, ruffling it and scritching at his scalp.

“Ahhn, Iggy…” Prompto mewled, leaning into Ignis’ hand. “S’nice...” He looked up at his friend, enjoying the feeling of tremors running down his back. Ignis glanced down and caught his admiring look, and held his gaze. Prompto felt electric, like his blush could light up all of Insomnia and beyond. How much could Ignis understand that he loved to be petted and fussed? How all he needed was to please and be praised?  _ It’s a fluke, right? _

Suddenly, Ignis removed his hand and stalked out of the room. Prompto’s buzz stilled and his gut quavered, until Ignis returned and threw a bundle of rough linen at him.  “Put this on,” he said, shortly. “Help me cook.”

Ignis set Prompto to preparing vegetables as he diced red onion, impervious, apparently, to their lacrimational effects.  Prompto, meant to be chopping peppers but in reality mangling them, was having less luck. Clutching his knife, he rubbed the back of his hand hard against his eyes. “Those poor onions!” he sobbed. “They’re finally going to fulfil their goal in life. I’m so ha-happy for them!”

Ignis frowned and gently grasped his wrist, bringing it back down to the chopping board. “Prompto,” he said sternly, “please could you mind what you’re doing? You could hurt yourself.

“And another thing,” he said as he gestured to the shreds of yellow and red that were strewn about the counter, “are you watching as you cut? Look at this pepper,  it’s all—“

His words faltered and fell away as Prompto’s eyebrows knotted together, mouth twisted slightly to one side.

“I’m sorry, Ignis,” whimpered Prompto, “I’m really sorry, I’m just not good enough—“

“That’s not it at  _ all _ , Prompto.” His hand was on Prompto’s shoulder now, and he drew the young man close towards him. A waft of a scent hit him, like the smell of the sea on a cold day. “I’m not angry at you, and I don’t care how the stupid peppers look.” He took both of Prompto’s hands in his own and squeezed. “I just care about you.”

Prompto sniffed and looked back up into Ignis’ face. “But I’ve wrecked everything! I annoyed you so much today, Iggy, and I knocked you over and I’ve ruined lunch and—“

“Hush now, no you’ve not.” And, maybe daringly, he turned them both bodily to face the counter again, his toned arms now around Prompto’s middle. “You just need a little more  _ discipline. _ ”

And Prompto watched as he carefully and cleanly chopped and cut and cooked, always in the safe envelope of his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, I’ve been thinking ‘bout what you said.” Prompto’s voice was soft as butter on the other end of the line. “The other day. With the peppers.”

Ignis leaned back in the leather office chair, eyes closed. “The peppers,” he repeated. “I seem to recall I said quite a few things.” His voice was a purr, and Prompto shivered. “You must be more specific.”

Prompto sighed. “Do I have to?”

“Really, yes. Or I’ll assume you’ll mean what I told you about stock, or meat, or how to properly address me.”   He could almost feel the warmth from Prompto’s blush coming off his phone.

A moment of quiet, and then Prompto’s voice cracked. “Do I have to, sir?” And that sole syllable sent heat shooting straight to Ignis’ cock.

“Good boy,” he responded, “and yes, you do.”

Another soft puff of breath on the line, and Ignis could just _see_ Prompto now, hopping anxiously from one foot to the other. “Discipline. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about how I need more discipline. I… I think you’re right.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he heard from the receiver. “Let’s discuss this tonight.”

They arranged to meet at Prompto’s; Ignis said it was convenient, being in between his office and a coffee house he liked, but really he just wanted Prompto to feel comfortable. He might have been exacting, but he wasn’t mean, and whilst he’d been able to tell that Prompto was as keen as he was, he still knew that he was the more experienced of the two.

 

* * *

 

He thought back to the other day. They’d been so close to each other; they were used to invading each other’s personal space now, but this time a charge of energy zapped between them. He’d reached around and taken control, growled in his ear. “Watch what my hands do. No, not at my face. Just my hands.” He’d smelled so good, and Ignis couldn’t help but inhale it, nose brushing the tender skin behind Prompto’s ear. Carefully he cored the remaining pepper, dicing it deliberately slowly so that Prompto would observe. “Good boy,” he’d breathed huskily, and Prompto gave a little shudder.  “And what do you think we should do next?”

Prompto breathed shakily as he considered. “We need to… fry… the onions?”  
“Very good.” He was rewarded with a caress of his head, soft fingers rubbing his hair roughly. A moan escaped from his lips. “Reach over and take that pan down from the wall for me.” And Prompto, eager to please, had stretched across the counter, his firm ass pushing back against Ignis’ hardening groin. Another tiny whimper.

They worked like this for a while, Ignis rewarding Prompto’s work with tiny gestures, never commenting on his rather  obvious responses. For his part, Prompto was attentive and responded well to his instructions, and Ignis began to see how symbiotic they could be.

The sauce was left on the stove to simmer, Prompto having successfully added the right amount of salt and stirred to Ignis’ satisfaction. His prize was an actual _nuzzle_ to the neck, and he puled into it, lips parted as he gasped. “Ig-gnis, why’re you-- why--”

“Full sentences please, Prompto,” Ignis chided gently, nipping his earlobe and making him pant all the harder.

“I don’t deserve… such nice treatment,” Prompto managed to gulp out finally, and truth be told Ignis wasn’t surprised to hear it. He was aware that the blond boy had a severe lack of self-confidence; his cheerful nature was delightful, but masked a young man screwed up by self doubt.

“Well, I’m the one doling it out, and I say you do.” Ignis did, however, cease his ministrations. “Unless you’d prefer I stopped..?”

“No! No, please don’t, I just don’t understand…”

“I’m very pleased with your work today, Prompto,” Ignis drawled, mouth next to Prompto’s ear again. “I like to demonstrate just how grateful I am. Would you let me?”

And Prompto had no doubt in his mind as he answered; he knew that this felt right to him. “Yes,” he whispered, his face flushed, and Ignis sucked on his earlobe, right hand moving down over Prompto’s front and grazing through the blond treasure trail he found there. His fingers rested a moment over Prompto’s button fly; when he heard nothing but a soft moan of “ _please”,_ he popped them open and freed Prompto’s hardened cock. It was thick and a good size, especially compared to Prompto’s slight frame and stature. Ignis felt the heft of it in his hand as he squeezed deft fingers around its base, found the weight of it felt good in his hand.

With a firm hand Ignis began to stroke Prompto, running his thumb over the tip to find precum beading there. Prompto’s mouth fell open in a perfect O, and Ignis thought how pretty that mouth would look around his dick. His jutted his hips against Prompto, his hard member pressing through the fabric of their clothes to push against Prompto’s ass. Prompto pushed back willingly, both hands flat on the counter, his breath forming clouds on the dark glass top. Ignis gripped his hip with his free hand and rocked his own hips hard, and Prompto stifled a groan in his throat.

“Speak up,” growled Ignis hoarsely, his grip on Prompto’s dick tightening as he twisted his hand up and down in one fluid motion. His own dick was twitching, still in his trousers, but he tried to stifle it as he concentrated at the task at hand. _Deal with it later, Ignis. Prompto first._

“I’m going to come,” Prompto choked out, his voice sounding thin with desperation. He rolled his ass against Ignis’ dick,  and _sweet Six_ , it took everything Ignis had not to fuck him there and then against that counter.

“Come for me, then,” whispered Ignis, and with a few rough strokes Prompto was undone, a guttural sound caught in his throat as he spurted hotly onto Ignis’ hand. Thick white ropes of cum looped around Ignis’ fingers, and he bought his hand up to Prompto’s face. Without direction, Prompto leaned forward and greedily sucked  each of Ignis’ fingers into his mouth, lapping at the sensitive skin between each finger before relinquishing. “Good boy,” breathed Ignis, and he wrapped both of his arms around Prompto’s middle to support him.

They leaned there for a minute, maybe more, before Ignis felt Prompto stir beneath him. He pulled away from him, missing the warm contact against his front. Prompto fastened his pants again and turned, heels of his hands on the counter to support himself. His face was still pink, which Ignis found endearing and charming, and he couldn’t seem to meet Ignis’ gaze as he spoke. “So, what do we do now?”

Ignis smiled, pulling plates from a draw and starting to serve up. “Let’s eat.”

 

* * *

 

They sat around the dinner table and talked, mainly Ignis. Prompto hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the plate of food was in front of him, and then he ate like a wolf. It gave Ignis time to speak, however, and he loved to see his cooking so appreciated.

“What we do now, Prompto, is really down to you.” He relished saying the name, enjoying how it felt on his tongue. _Not the only thing of his you’d enjoy tasting_ , he thought to himself, and he hid his face behind steepled hands as he blushed. “I enjoyed our encounter, and I hope you did too; I believe we could come up with a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

He watched Prompto chew, try to talk, choke, and finally swallow. “I, uh, I liked it too. But I don’t really get where you’re getting off, Ignis, don’t you want to--”

“There’s time for that later, if you’re thinking along the same lines as I am.” And Ignis laid out the foundations of his idea to Prompto. The premise was simple. For his own reasons, Ignis wanted something or somebody to care for. Prompto needed someone to take a little control and to care for him. There were some rules they’d need to put down, Ignis said, but nothing that couldn’t be adjusted as time went on. For now, he would want Prompto to please him as far as he comfortably could. In return, Ignis would guide, reward, and discipline Prompto. At the word _discipline_ Ignis was sure Prompto sat up straighter, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he added quickly, “unless you wanted me to,” and again he flushed, because now he was imagining Prompto bend over his desk, red stripes marking his pale thighs and backside, looking back at him and asking _more…_

Ignis cleared his throat, trying again to hide his blush, and he was certain he could see Prompto smirking at him. “I’d also request that we address each other properly when we’re together like this, if I may. I think it would let us settle into it easily.”

“And what do you suggest?”

“I think ‘sir’ would be suitable, wouldn’t it? And you… I’d like you to decide that.”

Prompto pushed back from the table. “I will… I’ll get back to you.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto gets a name, and Ignis gets to do his favouritest thing ever: write a list.
> 
> n.b.: Mermaid's Gin is both real and delicious. It's botanicals include licorice root and samphire, and it is absolutely perfect for sipping whilst reading smut.

Prompto paced across his apartment again, trying to catch himself looking good in the mirror for once. This morning he’d been certain that he wasn’t completely horrendous-looking, but years of being teased about his fat face selfies wasn’t helping him much. The more he looked at his face in the mirror, the more he found to hate. Weird eyes. Shit eyebrows. Those fucking freckles. Had he always looked so lopsided? _At least when you were fat, you couldn’t see your features._

His thoughts were interrupted by two sharp raps at the door. With one last quick glance in the mirror, and a desperate dusting of lint from the sofa, Prompto strode across the parquet to the door. He was sure his rabbit heart was beating hard and so fast that it would be visible through the thin fabric of his shirt.

In the doorway stood Ignis. Prompto stared up at him for what he was certain was at least a week, mouth too dry to form words. “May I come in?” Ignis suggested, a faint smile on his face.

“Uh, um, y-yeah, please! Have a- have a seat!” Prompto gestured vaguely to the sofa, and watched as Ignis passed over the threshold, waiting in a neat column for Prompto to sit.

It was an odd feeling, Prompto decided, to suddenly be so aware of how your friend looked, and moved, and _smelled_ , when through years of familiarity they had just existed. He took a moment to appreciate Ignis’ taut form, all long legs and immaculate posture, before joining him on the couch.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I bought something to drink.” Ignis smiled again, faintly but certainly there, and he handed over a smart black bottle bag. “It’s just some gin,” he added, as Prompto peeked inside. “I thought we could have G&Ts to relax. Celebrate, maybe.” Prompto pulled the clear bottle out of the bag and set it on the table; thumbing the label: _Mermaid’s Gin_.  He’d no idea about drinks beyond some extremely potent shooters and beer, but knowing Ignis, he’d love it anyway. The man had impeccable taste.

He sat on the edge of his sofa, right leg nervously jiggling as he played with his cuff. “About that,” he started, “I don’t know if we’re gonna have much to celebrate.”

Ignis leaned forward, his forearms balanced on his knees. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and Prompto noticed fine, light-coloured hair covered all but one darkened, shinier patch of skin. “Are you having second thoughts, Prompto?” Ignis responded. “It’s perfectly fine if you are; I’ll go, if you’d prefer--”

“No, it’s not that at all!” Prompto tore his eyes away from Ignis’ sculpted arms and clever fingers and looked into his face; the look he saw was gentle but impassive. “I can’t-- aw, _jeez…”_ He was tugging, nervously, at one lock of hair that hung by the side of his face, hard enough to pull out individual strands. It was an action Ignis would hardly miss, and he whipped his hand up to wrap around Prompto’s  wrist. “Stop that,” he chided, stilling Prompto’s anxious movements as he thumbed against the quickening pulse he felt there. Prompto flushed, and his arm relaxed and fell. Ignis continued to softly caress his hand, running his thumb over the sensitive skin of Prompto’s palm. His blood felt charged and he closed his eyes, finding comfort in the plush darkness.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this, Prompto. And it’s okay to be nervous.” He smiled over at his friend, pushed Prompto’s hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “We can be as slow as you need.” And now Prompto could barely breathe, let alone respond, but he managed to croak out a reply.

“Tell me what to do.”

 

Ignis poured them both gin and tonics as they talked, tall tumblers filled with ice, garnished with cucumber, and the perfect ratio of spirit to mixer. He’d suspected, correctly it seemed, that Prompto’s cupboards would fail to glean a matched pair of glasses, and so he’d brought his own with him. Prompto openly admired his figure as he worked, enjoying a peek of clavicle beneath the open V of his dark shirt; the neck that was equal parts graceful and strong, and the dark, full lips… Prompto reddened and smirked, remembering a throwaway comment that Noctis had made about that mouth. “Now those are _dick-sucking_ lips,” he’d said, and Prompto could just imagine it, bucking into Ignis’ mouth as his skilled tongue worked up the shaft, lapping at the precum pearling at the tip, and _fuck_ , he could feel his cock hardening now, his pants straining. He shift from one foot to another, swiftly took the proffered drink and retreated to a seat the table, where Ignis had started a list in his tilted cursive:

 

_Ignis promises that he will take care of Prompto and tend to his needs._   
_Prompto promises he will accept this care._   
_Prompto shall feel free to tell Ignis how he feels, and Ignis will support him._   
_Ignis will guide Prompto with encouragement, and when necessary, discipline._   
_Prompto will in turn accept this guidance._   
_At any time, play can be stopped with the word “kupo” for any reason whatsoever._   
_During our sessions, Prompto may refer to Ignis as “sir”. Ignis may refer to Prompto as_

 

Prompto chewed on his lower lip as he read, his cheeks blooming as he re-read the last line. Something stirred within him, as he considered his position. It wasn’t as though he’d be in a position of servitude, and submissive felt too focused on being nothing more than a convenient hole. He finally settled on _pet_ , trying the word on like a new jacket. _Please, pet me. In my spare time, I act like a puppy. Nice to meet you, I’m Ignis’ pet._

It felt right to him, and he picked up Ignis’ silver fountain pen and added his new name to the line. His heart buzzed as he waited for Ignis to absorb its meaning, sipping on his drink. To little surprise, he liked it; it tasted mild and slightly citrusy. There was an almost peppery tang to it, and the more he held it in his mouth the more flavours he was able to distinguish, although he had no hope of guessing what they actually were.

Ignis had been staring at the new addition to the list for some time now. He was usually so quick to form words, but now his mouth seemed to be useless and woolly; instead, his brain flashed quickly between thoughts and images. Prompto mewling at him as he was fingered, on all fours and begging for his dick to be stroked. Prompto nuzzling into his neck as he lowered himself onto Ignis’ shaft. Prompto at his feet, pawing at Ignis’ thighs with curled fists and sloppily sucking his cock. Wearing cat ears, maybe.

“Is it OK?” offered Prompto, adding a cautious, “sir?” at the end. Ignis had been staring into space for half a minute now, and it was most unusual.

“Oh sweet Six above, it’s perfect, my pet.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The library of Insomnia only allows you to take out books for a week. Ignis knows Prompto is a terribly slow reader, so helps him out by reading aloud to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - major computer issues. :'( 
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments and the kudos, it gives me LIIIIIIIIFE.   
> which is good, because I've now done all the menace dungeons, platinumed the game, and would literally expire if it weren't for Episode Gladiolus coming out in a week. (ps: if you write cor/gladio please lmk cus I'm so thirsty for them)
> 
> "Buttageddon" is a real novel, but the plot mentioned within bears no relation to that book. However, the plot was inspired by the title "Helicopter Man Pounds Dinosaur Billionare Ass" by the legendary Chuck Tingle. Prompto's a big fan.

Prompto was toying with his glass, stirring idly with long white fingers before sucking his drink off the ends of them. He had to keep moving, or else Ignis would see how nervous he was, would see how much he shook in his seat. His right leg kicked restlessness, toes glued to the floor but knee juddering like he’d been drilling into ice. He’d been trying to speak for minutes now, but each time the words had died before they reached his mouth.

“Prompto,” Ignis said, sat across from him in a high-backed armchair, “you’re on edge. Why should my  _ pet  _ be nervous around me?” The way he said  _ pet _ was rich like chocolate, and Prompto sat up at it, focusing on him. 

“I guess I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, that won’t do at all.” He gestured to the coffee table between them, threw a coaster to land neatly in front of Prompto. “Please put your drink down, and come to me.” He hand lay gently on his knee, and he patted it lightly. 

Prompto did as he was asked, crossing the few feet to stand over Ignis. He took a few seconds, puzzled, as he wondered where he was to sit. Although Ignis was lean, there’d be no space for the both of them on the chair. And then his eyes dropped to Ignis’ hand upon his knee, and he wondered if he’d misread what that meant as he sank to his knees on the floor besides him, and rested his head in Ignis’ lap.

He knew, immediately and with wonderful warmth, that his choice had been correct. As Ignis brought his hand down to fuss the back of his head, Prompto let his eyes close, rubbing his cheek against the heat of the other man’s thigh. The feeling was unfamiliar, but somehow right, like Prompto had been living upside-down and had just discovered gravity.

“Is that better?” Ignis asked him softly, thumb rubbing over the soft spot behind his ear. “Feeling a little more like yourself? It’s a lot to take in, pet.”

Prompt was sighing dreamily under his fingers, and he looked such a  _ sight _ at his feet, like he’d always belonged there. “M’better, thank you, sir. Just being stupid.”

“What do you think is stupid, pet?” The hand on his hair was soothing, stroking from crown to nape. 

“It’s really nothing.”

“Hmm, a nothing’s never sounded more like a something. Please tell me.”

Prompto slowly opened his eyes, turned his head to gaze up at Ignis through long lashes. “Please don’t laugh,” he whispered, fingers clutching at Ignis’ knee, and Ignis didn’t even mind that there’d be creases in the linen. 

“I would never. I promise.”

Prompto buried his face in cloth again and croaked. “I’m worried. I won’t be good enough. You’re gonna get bored of me.”

Ignis’ fingers stilled, and Prompto could feel each cool pad resting on the back of his neck. They anchored him. “I assure you: once I’ve taken an interest in something I rarely get bored. And you,” he continued, drawing Prompto’s chin up so that his face was no longer hidden, “you interest me rather a lot, my pet.”

All of Prompto’s air was somehow stuck inside his lungs and Ignis was close, terrifyingly so, his warmth breath grazing Prompto’s skin. He pulled a book from the stand besides him, glanced at the title and hefted it in one hand like a weapon. “I’m going to read to you, if you’d like. Would you like to stay on the floor, or would you prefer the sofa?”

“My butt hurts.”

Ignis chuckled, and it was so rare that Prompto wondered, not for the first time that day, if he had imagined it. “We must get you a cushion then, pet. One just for you.” 

He took Prompto by the hand and pulled him up as he stood, fingers surprisingly soft despite years of practical work; Ignis had beautiful long fingers, with tidy cuticles and buffed nails, and Prompto felt somewhat embarrassed about the state of his own hands. He vowed to take better care; his fingers should be used to make Ignis feel  _ good _ , he decided.

Prompto allowed himself to be led to the sofa, where Ignis settled back into the well-worn cushions and gently cracked open the book. Prompto cosied up next to him, head against his chest, and from here he could see the title he’d be listening to.  _ Buttageddon. _ He reddened as he realised he’d left his library book out, a receipt marking the place where he’d finished last night, jerking off into a lonely puddle on his stomach.

“My goodness, what  _ have _ you been reading?” purred Ignis, eyes skimming over the page. “I do hope I’ve not missed anything too exciting - although, it seems although you’ve stopped in the middle of a scene. I’ll go back and begin at the start of the chapter.”

Ignis began to read aloud, the writing easy going and the story fairly plotless; this was the kind of thing that wasn’t written to challenge but to titillate.  _ Not that that was a bad thing _ , he thought, remembering his own night curled up with one of the author’s earlier volumes.

It was whilst the novel’s helicopter pilot was sucking off his billionaire passenger that Ignis noticed that Prompto was squirming, pressing his knees together in an attempt to hide his growing arousal. He paused at the end of the paragraph, slipping his thumb beneath the words to hold his place. “Are you alright there, pet?” he asked softly. “It seems that you’re a little distracted.”

“I’m not, I’m just--” Prompto stopped, unsure how to proceed. “I’m  _ really _ enjoying listening. Please sir, don’t stop.” 

“What kind of awful person would I be to stop when my pet asks me to carry on? I’ll continue if you make yourself more comfortable. Open your fly for me, sweet.” The endearment, said in Ignis’ commanding tone, sent heat to pool in Prompto’s dick, and he pulled down his zip as directed. The front of his jeans was pushed open by his hardened cock, pushing at the soft jersey of his briefs.

“Good boy,” Ignis said silkily,raising a hand to to ruffle Prompto’s fringe. “I want to watch you get off.” Prompto felt some trepidation, but he was no less willing to carry out Ignis’ demand. He reached his hand down to cup his balls and grip his dick as Ignis began reading again. Something about the reading material, ridiculous as it was, being read in Ignis’ husky voice made it seem doubly erotic as it had last night, and soon Prompto was stroking his shaft fast, bucking his hips to fuck up into his hand. He’d thrown back one arm to muffle his cries, and, without missing a beat, Ignis gently plucked it away. He used the same hand to cup Prompto’s jaw, running his thumb over swollen, bitten lips; his eyes flicked between Prompto’s working hands and his face. 

Ignis shifted in his seat, aware that he was now sporting a hard-on that would be pressing into Prompto’s side. But Ignis was nothing if not a master of control. Ignoring the heat in his groin - so close to Prompto’s face, his willing mouth - he pushed two fingers between his lips, gently at first until Prompto lapped at the tips. A pink flush stained Prompto’s cheeks, freckles nearly disappearing, and he whined, cheeks hollowing as he sucked on Ignis’ fingers. Calmly as he could, Ignis continued to read, his fingers fucking the wet heat of Prompto’s mouth. 

Prompto’s cries were becoming more strained and more desperate, and Ignis realised, with some surprise, that that blond was holding himself back. He read to the end of his paragraph and withdrew his fingers, dragging his thumb over Prompto’s lips and chin. “Would you like to come, my pet?” he hissed, watching Prompto’s torturously slow pull on his cock, thumb pressing into his slit.

“Yes, yes, please, I want to come,” sobbed Prompto, his face contorted with pleasure. “Please, I’m so close, I’m going to--”

Ignis wound fingers into his hair, yanked his head back to sternly meet his eyes.“Ask properly, pet, or I’ll not let you for a week.”

Prompto gasped, his eyes clouded and dark, and heat took hold of him from somewhere behind his cock, almost too overwhelming, and he managed to choke out, “please, _ please _ , Sir, may I come?”

“You may, my Pet,” hummed Ignis, and Prompto was spasming with pleasure, grunting as his cock twitched in his fist. For the second time in as many days, he came as he lay sprawled out on his sofa, his spunk casting in a fine, messy arch over his belly to puddle on his chest. 

He lay there for a few moments, his limbs loose and unset, breath mere shredded pants. His orgasm was strangely intense, he felt, considering he’d really done nothing more than usual. _Except be told to come on command. That was out there._ His vision was clouded, and he’d felt on the edge of something euphoric. Prompto realised, slowly, that Ignis was holding him around the waist, pressed tight against his back, and his mouth was somewhere around Prompto’s ear. Something hard was pushing into his hip, and he realised with a flush that it was Ignis. “You are so _beautiful_ , my pet, has anyone told you that?” he whispered fiercely, fingers clutching at Prompto’s shoulders. 

Prompto didn’t answer, instead pulling away from Ignis’ grip to turn, straddling the other man’s thighs as he faced him. The now-soiled shirt was tugged off and thrown to pool on the floor, and Prompto rested the side of his head on Ignis’ shoulder. “Hey, what say we take care of you now, sir?” He began to paw at the hard length he could feel digging into his thigh, batting ineffectively at the zip.

“Prompto,” said Ignis, trying and failing to ignore the way that Prompto was snuggling into his neck, “you don’t have to--”

“I  _ want  _ to,” came the response, murmured into his neck. “It’s like, my  _ role _ or something. Please, let me.” Prompto pulled on the hem of Ignis’ shirt and tucked his fingertips underneath, monitoring the man’s face for any signs of discomfort. Ignis realised, with a jolt, that it was the first time he’d been touched by Prompto; the first time he’d let someone touch him for a long time, really. For someone who seemed to do so little physically, Prompto’s fingers were surprisingly rough;  _ but then, _ he thought, _ how much do you know about him?  _

He was distracted, again, by Prompto sucking on his earlobe and then, maddeningly, grazing teeth down the side of his neck to nip at his trapezius. He aware that his breathing was ragged and, as Prompto explored him with bone-hard fingers, a whimper of a moan escaped his mouth. 

“Do you like this then, sir?” Prompto whispered, a laugh in his voice. Fingers dipped over Ignis’ trousers, hesitated, then pulled down on his zip. Tooth by tooth, his fly gave way, and Prompto reached for his aching cock. “Doesn’t this feel good?”

The truth was, it  _ did _ feel good. Something about the roughness of Prompto’s skin on the smooth silk of Ignis’ dick was delicious. The way that he was fondling his cock in a way completely different to how Ignis would left him breathless, on edge. But it would not do, not at all, to lose control so early on. Ignis grabbed Prompto’s wrists, pulled them to either side of him. Arms held taut, Prompto sat upright and searched Ignis’ face.

“Did I ask you to do that, pet?” Ignis said coolly, surveying Prompto. “Did I say that you could touch me?” 

“No, but I thought--”

“I’ll  _ tell _ you when you’re allowed to use your hands on me.” Ignis had been tempted to use the word  _ paws _ , but thought better of it.  _ Slow and steady. _ “For now, find some way to put your mouth to better use. I’m sure you can come up with something.” He released Prompto’s wrists, looking at him over glasses that were more for effect than for vision.

Prompto returned his look as he dropped, once again, to his knees. “Better get two cushions,” he said. “One for my place, one for yours.” He leaned forward and freed Ignis’ hard length from his underwear. His tongue poked out from between pink lips and lapped at the slit, looking up at Ignis with eyes as blue as the sea. 

“Talking is not conducive to your current aim, pet,” Ignis said, struggling now to get words out of his mouth in a coherent order or tone. Prompto’s leaned his elbows either side of Ignis and let his arms drape over his legs, fingers resting on the soft skin of his inner thighs. He drew his cockhead into his mouth with a soft  _ pop _ , cheeks hollowing as he sucked on Ignis’ length. 

He hummed quietly as his pushed his lips down to Ignis’ root, nose nearly grazing the soft hair at the base of his dick. Truth be told, Ignis’ dick was a little longer than he was used to, and it was a terrible angle he was at for anything more than lazy dick sucking. So Prompto concentrated instead on the sensitive head of Ignis’ cock, using spit and fingers to work the length. With dark eyes and blown pupils, he looked up at Ignis; what he saw sent the blood rushing from his head to his groin again. The older man was blushing, gnawing at his knuckles to stop himself crying out. His eyes were unfocused, or maybe he just wasn’t sure where to look next, and when Prompto next looked up they were closed. He knitted fingers into Prompto’s hair, drawing him closer still, and Prompto somehow found the leverage to move his mouth over the shaft, his lips covering more with every bob of his head.

A tiny cry wrung from Ignis’ throat, and Prompto’s dick jutted as he heard it, felt it go straight to his core. His efforts redoubled as he pushed his lips down further, just far enough that he could feel the tip of Ignis’ cock grazing the back of his throat. Suppressing the urge to gag, he held his mouth where it was for as long as possible, using his tongue to massage the vein underneath. Ignis tightened his grip in Prompto’s hair, and he welcomed the way Ignis pushed his hips up to meet his mouth. He let Ignis set a rhythm, slow and calm and deep; his jaw ached but he felt, for once, so useful, as he fucked with his mouth.

“If you carry on like that I can’t-- can’t be held responsible-- oh,  _ Prom _ \--”

Whatever Ignis refused to take responsibility for, Prompto never found out. His ears were ringing with praise, and with Ignis’ gasps and moans. He was hard, so much harder than before, but felt no real urgency to deal with it; he was enjoying feeling Ignis come apart beneath him. Knowing he was the cause. He had place in the world, and it was right here.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It stands to reason, really, that Ignis marks everything that is his.

When Prompto woke, he was alone. This was no surprise. After he’d drawn Ignis’ orgasm out of him, the man had seemed bone-tired; dead on his feet, even. Still, Prompto had happily snuggled up to him, making little contented noises in his throat as Ignis pulled him into an embrace. It was some time before he’d been coaxed to disentangle and trot to bed; Ignis had _tucked him in,_ for crying out loud, and mussed his hair with the kind of care Prompto could never remember having ever felt. He’d hardly expected Ignis to stay the night, whether that was in his bed or the shabby, beat-up old sofa; still, he would have enjoyed the company in the morning. _But then_ , he thought, _you couldn’t go mixing up intimacy with care._

He slid out of bed and dragged himself to the bathroom, aware of his morning slipping away. People often asked him what he did with his day, and all he could honestly answer was _stuff_. Somewhere in his informal life he’d gotten some kind of schedule, with people who’d expect to see his face or badger him with questions relentlessly after. He’d fill his day with Things To Do; if he didn’t, he’d rarely make it out of bed.

He shuddered as he pulled back the shower curtain; it was growing dark with mould and threatened to cling to him at the slightest movement. The shower took a while to heat up, and rarely got past lukewarm. Today he’d be lucky if he’d scrub the night from his hair before it ran cold.

Now cleaner, if not clean, Prompto picked back through the apartment. He noted, with interest, that his discarded clothes from last night had been placed neatly in the washing machine, and his few books stacked on a shelf. Beyond that, pale sunlight drifted in through a window he’d forgotten existed; it lit up the birchwood flooring like gold. He stepped softly over to it and pushed his toes into the warm floor, resting his back against the hot glass.

That’s when he saw it. A plate left like an offering, covered over but no doubt for him. Besides it, juice in a glass, condensation beading in the warming room. Prompto lifted the hood from the dish and found a neat breakfast of bagels, poached eggs, and ham, still warm to the touch. _Iggy must have come by this morning,_ he thought, and he picked up his fork to read the slip of paper left underneath.

_My pet-_

_I’m very pleased with you._

_Eat up._

His fingers traced the letters, and he could feel the impression of the pen as it had made its marks. Eating quickly, he contemplated the note, feeling for all its briefness that its creator was with him at the table. He flipped it a few times between thumb and forefinger, not-quite-sated at its briefness.

A response was required, surely. Prompto couldn’t slither in and out of flats like Ignis could, and interrupting him at the office was just asking for trouble. A text seemed impersonal, but it was, at least, sure and without the threat of wrath.

**Hey, thanks for breakfast**

Prompto sent, and then immediately regretted, his short message. _Thanks for breakfast? The dude just got up early just to cook for you, went out of his way to get it to you, tidies up your mess and all you can say is friggin’ thank you? Fuck, are you stupid?_

He shook his head, pinching the space between his eyebrows as he thought. Quickly, he thumbed an additional message to Ignis.

**It was REALLY good (っ˘ω˘ς )**

**Can I say thanks to you later?**

Prompto sat and stared at his phone, willing the stone that had dropped into his stomach to dissolve. He had to start moving soon, he had obligations - but he felt paralysed by anxious thought, waiting for approval and affirmation.

His phone chirped, finally, jolting him awake, and his heart pounded as he pulled up the message. Three short, staccato sentences waited for him:

**You are most welcome, pet.**

**However you have addressed me improperly. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.**

Prompto flushed, fingers already flying over the keyboard.

**I’m sorry sir it won’t happen again**

**I’ll make sure of it**

**I guess you’ll have to drum it into me somehow lol (⁄ ⁄ >⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)**

**I shall be free after 6pm. I expect you to be at my quarters then, waiting to receive me. The code for my door is 6332.**

**Until then, you may do as you wish.**

**Thank you sir**

Prompto exhaled through his nose, worrying his index finger with his teeth. He’d just _forgotten..._ but then, that was the whole point of this exercise, wasn’t it? To give his life some structure, some _discipline…_ He thought again to Ignis’ text and felt heat flooding his cheeks; what was the man planning to do with him?

There was no time for that now. He pushed back from the table, tossed his plate to join the others in the sink, and headed out.

 

* * *

 

Ignis leaned back in his office chair, a wry smile cracked across his face. He hadn’t planned to make breakfast for Prompto, but before he’d let himself out last night he’d checked the fridge and cupboards. _Out of concern_ , he reasoned, _for a friend._ All he’d found was out-of-date milk and some stale Chocob-Os. _Hardly likely to sustain one for a day._ He was so used to cooking for Noctis that it was little imposition to make extra. _You’d do the same for any friend._

Still, Ignis supposed, he did have certain obligations now. His pet was his, and his alone. He’d have to ensure Prompto knew that. Turning back to his screen, he carried on searching. Thank goodness for same-day delivery.

 

* * *

 

“Here ya go, Mrs G, safe an’ sound.” Prompto handed over the lead before squatting on his heels, drawing a treat from his pocket. He closed it into his fist and held both hands out, offering each to the dog. She lifted an arthritic paw and flopped it onto his left-hand knuckles, and sparing no delight he handed over her well-won treat. “Way to go, buddy!”

“Thank you, Prompto,” croaked his owner, a dessicated woman wrapped in shawls despite the warmth of the day. “She really adores you, you know.” This was, of course,  patently obvious to anybody looking on. The dog was frantically slobbering at Prompto, and he was _soaked_.

“It’s no problem, now. I enjoy it! I took some great pics of her too - I’ll send ‘em to ya later!”

“You’re too good, dear. Here, something for your time.” Mrs G took Prompto’s palm and pressed something into it, curled his fingers over the top. “Get yourself something nice.”

“Aw, no, I couldn’t, honestly, I lo--”

“Please, for me.” She squeezed his hand tighter, placed her other palm over the top in confirmation. “I’ll see you next week, hmm?”

He smiled, withdrew his hand from hers. “Sure thing, Mrs G.See ya then.”

The bright new coins clinked in his pocket as he dashed down the steps to her building, a few hundred gil for doing what he felt was right. Prompto would have done it for free. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he whipped it out quickly, hands shaking as he pulled open the texts.

**A parcel will be waiting for you at my home. Open it.**

**You are to avail yourself of its contents.**

_A package…?_ Prompto checked the time on his phone. It had already turned five; he’d not realised how late his dog walking would make him.  Ignoring the oncoming darkness, he began to jog.

There was, in fact, a box in the hallway, propped up against Ignis’ door. It didn’t quite block the narrow corridor, and Prompto struggled to drag it inside. The size belied its weight, awkward only because of its shape. He pulled back the tabs, and with a _whump_ the lid sprang open, the contents expanding like a marshmallow in a microwave.

Out popped a cushion, easily a metre squared in size and deep plum in colour. It was replete with stuffing, and Prompto lifted it to squish it against himself. Some people got to leave toothbrushes at their lover’s homes; he got to leave his own seat.

There was very clearly a conspicuous space in the living room; the coffee table had been pushed along slightly, a chair tilted just _so_ , and Prompto found that cushion fitted neatly into the space made. He stepped over it to break down the box it had come in; the box rattled. There remained one small gift inside.

Prompto reached down into the depths, doubling at the waist to scrape fingers along the bottom. They closed around something fine and flexible, a bands of something that felt like leather. He withdraw his hand and pulled out what looked suspiciously like a lead and collar, made from supple leather the same colour as his cushion. “He-- he expects me to _wear_ this?” he muttered, turning the strips of fabric over in his hands. The idea wasn’t completely unfavourable to Prompto, but _you look like a dork anyway_ , he thought.

He glanced again at the clock as he placed the now-flattened carton with the other recycling, and found he had twenty minutes before Ignis was due home. _So_ , _then, let’s get availing._ He settled down and held the narrow collar up; he’d been right, it was certainly leather. It felt blessedly cool against his burning skin, and he held up his phone to take a snap. He decided he quite liked the effect; dark against his skin, contrasting with his gold hair. _I guess Ignis isn’t terrible when it comes to aesthetics_.

He flopped and lay on his back, holding his phone above him for a better shot, and snapped away until he found an image he thought could be to Ignis’ liking. The frame cropped off just above his mouth, lips parted in want and tongue just visible behind his teeth. His neck was bared, long and sinuous, collar graceful on his neck. He pinged it quickly, adding a message--

**Opened your package**

**Hurry home~**

He barely had time to put his phone down before the response came.

**Speeding is illegal, pet.**

**So’s texting whilst driving???**

He dropped his phone next to him, stretching out languidly on his back and running his fingers over his new collar. His eyes drooped and he sighed - he had five minutes, surely, to sigh - in his new pocket of comfort.

“Is this how you’d greet me _every_ day, pet?”

Prompto cracked his eyes open. Ignis had somehow, the stealthy bastard, snuck in at some point, and was now looming over him.  He scrabbled to get up, finding purchase difficult on the satiny fabric he lay upon, and slipped. Ignis held a smirk back as he helped him to his knees, chucking Prompto’s chin with his index finger.

“I’m sorry, sir,” started Prompto, but he was silenced with a cluck of Ignis’ tongue.

“Don’t fret now, I hardly told you how or where you should be.” Ignis ran his fingers over Prompto’s jaw, his neck, the collar. “This suits you,” he murmured, fingering it lightly. “You’ll wear this from now on. Always, when you’re with me. Do you understand what that means?”

“I’m yours, sir,” came the response, Prompto’s voice barely registering above a whisper. Ignis clipped the lead onto his collar, straightening it as he did so. His hands lingered on Prompto’s neck.

“You are _mine_ ,” he growled back, pulling on the lead. “Now, on your knees, pet. I’ve still not forgotten about this morning’s transgression.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't carry out relationships this way


End file.
